


past the point of rescue

by helsinkibaby



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: comment_fic, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 08:24:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15945509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: Greg is tired.





	past the point of rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Theme: free for all  
> Prompt: BBC Sherlock, Gregory Lestrade+/Any, "tired. so very tired. can't think. need sleep.and you"  
> https://comment-fic.livejournal.com/942527.html?thread=109246655#t109246655

When Molly hears the distinctive sound of a key scratching around the lock, she’s on her feet in a flash, crossing to her front door and pulling it open. 

The sight she sees there is worse than she’d anticipated. 

Since he’d left her bed the previous morning, Greg seems to have sprouted a few dozen more grey hairs, while his five o’clock shadow has graduated into the beginnings of a bona fide beard. His eyes are red and bloodshot with tiredness, dark shadows underneath and he looks like he’s aged ten years in the last thirty six hours. He blinks blearily at her, then at the key, still in his hand, suspended in midair. When he looks back at her, he blinks again, swaying on his feet a little. “Molls?” 

If possible, his voice is even more tired than his face, rough and scratchy and it tears at Molly’s heart. “Oh, Greg.” She reaches out, hand closing over his wrist and pulling him towards her. “Come in here.” 

He allows her to drag him into the apartment towards the sofa and he rubs his free hand over his face as he half walks, half stumbles behind her. “Tired, Molls,” he mumbles. “So very tired.” And if she hadn’t worked that out already, that would have done it. When Greg loses his ability to speak in full sentences, things have gone far past the point of rescue. “Can’t think. Need sleep.” She drops down on the sofa, tugs at his arm. She expects him to drop down on the seat beside her, lean his head on her shoulder, but no. He’s too far gone for that apparently, because he collapses like a puppet with its strings cut, ends up lying face down with his cheek pillowed on her lap. “And you.” She can just about make out the last two words, muffled as they are by her body, but they make something warm and tender unfurl deep in her stomach, bring a fond smile to her face. 

“Oh, Greg,” she murmurs as she lets her fingers run over his head, scratching lightly when she gets to the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. He makes a noise not unlike the one Toby makes when she does that to him, almost a purr. Then he makes it again and she tilts her head as she recognises the sound for what it actually is, a snore. Biting her lip to keep back a sudden burst of giggles, she continues moving her hand across his hair, concentrates on the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his body against hers. 

She’ll let him sleep for a while, she decides, a little cat nap to give him just about enough energy to eat the cottage pie that only needs to be heated, maybe have a shower afterwards if he’s so inclined. Then she’ll pull him into her bedroom - not that she ever has to pull too hard - where she’ll make him turn off his phone and sleep until morning. 

Her plan made, she settles back and makes herself comfortable. 

“I love you,” she whispers into the silence. 

His snore is her only answer, but that’s ok. He’ll make it up to her later - he always does.


End file.
